


I'll be in trouble

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breaking Celibacy Vows, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Neighbors, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5150462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first and only time Octavia takes a vow of celibacy, she lasts exactly one month. (How was she to know her new neighbour is really hot?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll be in trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Side pairings mentioned: Minty, hints at Bellarke, past Clexa. (Just in case.)

Never in her life has Octavia been less enthusiastic about anything Clarke or Raven have proposed, and that includes locking themselves into her room and handing their cell phones over to Bellamy for safekeeping while they crammed for their final exams in senior year. (Clarke may have been a giant nerd and Raven pretty much hated everyone and everything that didn't include some form of tinkering, but Octavia had a social life that almost did not survive their week-long recluse.) It's been almost ten years and Octavia still has not forgiven Clarke for taking away her phone and giving it to _Bellamy_ , of all people, who had way too much fun seeing her suffer.

But Octavia loves her friends, and Clarke and Raven are both really hurting right now. That's the only reason she agrees to this stupid idea. (Well, that and the copious amounts of tequila they've consumed.) So she reluctantly puts her hand on theirs in the middle of their little circle and listens as Raven recites:

“I solemnly swear,” Octavia fondly rolls her eyes at the blatant display of nerdiness “not to flirt with, kiss, have sex or fall in love with any man from this day on for the next six months...”

“Really, Rae? Six months?” Octavia thinks that that's a bit much. Surely they can both get over being double-timed by their accidentally-shared boyfriend in less time than that?!

But Raven and Clarke both shoot her angry glares, and Octavia nods and falls quiet so Raven can finish their vow:

“... and to pay for our next pizza and margarita night if I break this vow. With extra tequila shots.”

Granted, that's a fair price. Pizza and margaritas are a hallowed treasure and one of Octavia's favourite food combinations (not that she gets to eat such unhealthy things very often), and she figures if she gets too bored over the next twelve months, she can always buy herself out of it, assuming she remembers to put a little something aside because her friends are not exactly lightweights and their margarita bill tends to run high on their regular girls' nights.

She's about to repeat the – admittedly rather ridiculous – vow when something occurs to her and she looks at Clarke.

“What about women though? Are you allowed to pick up girls while the rest of us die of thirst? Because that would be so unfair.”

Raven nods in agreement, and Clarke looks pensive. “Well, it wasn't a woman who stomped all over our hearts, was it?”

“That doesn't mean a woman can't hurt you just as much. Remember Lexa?”

That prompts both Clarke and Raven to nod solemnly. 

“It's settled then, no women either. Now let's repeat it all together:” Raven takes up the role of master of ceremonies once more and starts, waiting for Clarke and Octavia to fall in: “I solemnly swear not to flirt with, kiss, have sex or fall in love with any person from this day on for the next six months, and to pay for our next pizza and margarita night if I break this vow. With extra tequila shots.”

Octavia lets out a little sigh at the thought of the long, boring months ahead of her, but she joins in anyway, sealing the deal with the secret handshake they developed in fifth grade.

Anything to help her friends. (And maybe she's lucky and one of them slips up sooner.)

***

 

Three hours later, Octavia is sitting in her apartment nursing a cup of tea. She's fairly drunk, so it probably won't help much with the hangover she's looking at tomorrow, but for now, she enjoys the moment of quiet. Apart from her insanely messy apartment, thanks to a fatal combination of a busy schedule, a general dislike of cleaning and a pipe in the kitchen sink that has started to leak like crazy this morning, Octavia thinks that her life is actually pretty great – it's like the epic shitshow going on with Clarke and Raven (who are smart and beautiful and do not deserve to be treated like this just for trusting the wrong person) has equipped her with a new sense of appreciation for her own well-ordered life.

Octavia shudders. Even though Raven and Clarke are hopefully on their way to feeling better soon, she's still glad she has so far dodged the bullet on traumatic relationships (although she's had her share of shitty life experiences). At least the vow means that she's safe from similar heartache for the next few months and able to focus on herself and her career, and where's the harm in that? Better to be safe than sorry, right? (Not that that's a saying Octavia has ever put much faith in.)

And as for the apartment – well, surely something can be done about that. In fact, she should start right now and wake up in a beautiful, tidy apartment tomorrow. (She briefly wonders if this is one of those ideas that only seem brilliant in the middle of the night after one too many drinks, but Octavia is pretty sure that this one really is a great idea.)

Setting down her cup with so much vigor that tea sloshes over the rim, Octavia jumps to her feet and starts haphazardly putting away whatever she lays eyes on. It's not the most efficient way to go about things, probably, but it is fun and she lets herself get swept up in it, even climbing on a chair to change a broken lightbulb without considering if she really should be climbing anything with her blood alcohol level. But the burned-out lamp has been bugging her for weeks now, and Bellamy, who promised to come by and change the lightbulb since she's a little too small to easily reach the lamp, has not yet been in, probably too caught up with  work and with debating whether or not he should rush to Clarke's side and offer her a shoulder to cry on.

Octavia rolls her eyes at the thought of her brother's honestly rather obvious pining for her best friend, and in hindsight, that was probably a mistake. The eye movement causes her to be hit by a wave of nausea, and the next thing she knows, Octavia is lying on the floor, the chair toppled over beside her.

For a long moment, she stays on the floor, winded, trying to get air into her lungs and to establish if she hurt herself. She makes a mental inventory of all her limbs, which there seems to be an awful lot of right now, silently repeating a prayer of “no injuries, please no injuries”. She has three new classes starting on Monday, she does not have time for an injury.

She is almost certain that her many limbs are in fact fine and wondering if it's really necessary to get up yet when there's a loud knock on her door that startles her upright.

Looking to the clock mounted on the wall, Octavia establishes that she did not pass out but that it is in fact still 2 am, a time at which not a lot of people normally knock on her door. Wincing, she carefully gets to her feet and staggers over to the door, remembering at the last second to take a look through the peephole before she opens the door.

It takes her a moment to identify the unexpected visitor, due to the peephole's fisheye-effect and the fact that he cannot seem to stop swaying in place, but eventually she realizes it's her new neighbour from across the hall. She passed him in the hallway when he moved in last week, but she didn't get around to saying hello because she was running late and he was distracted carrying a presumably heavy box. So even though she has identified him now, she doesn't actually know him, and maybe she should not just let him into her apartment in the middle of the night. But he looks nice, and really worried, so she puts her trust in the little safety chain and cracks the door open.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay? I heard a very loud bang, as if someone fell down.”

“Yeah, that was me. I tried to change a lightbulb and fell off the chair.”

That sounds ridiculous, and it's clear from his expression that he is not buying it. He leans closer and asks in a low voice:

“Is someone with you?”

“What? No, I'm alone.” That's a bit of a creepy question, Octavia thinks, ready to slam the door closed again when he continues talking, even more quietly, and she understands what he's getting at:

“If someone in there is threatening you, just say, I don't know, the wattage of the lightbulb and I'll call the police.”

“No, really, I'm fine. There's no one here, I actually am stupid enough to climb onto a chair and try to change a lightbulb after three Long Island Iced Teas. It's hard to believe, I know.”

He still looks a little unconvinced, but nods anyway.

“Want me to change it for you?”

Octavia cocks her head to the side. “Is that an excuse to get into my apartment so you can check that there's no dead body?”

“Honestly? Yes.” Octavia makes an outraged sound but is met with a disarming smile. “After all, wouldn't it be sexist of me to assume that if anything did happen in your apartment, you could only be the victim?”

That, Octavia has to admit, is a sound argument. But she has no intention of being a victim, so she grabs her hockey stick from the hallway cupboard before opening the door, quickly stepping back to be out of his reach. He looks a little startled at her aggressive stance, bat clutched tightly in her hand, but doesn't comment. Instead, his eyes roam over the apartment, and when he looks at her again, they are wide with disbelief.

“What the hell happened here? This place looks like a tornado blew through.”

That stings a little, because she worked her ass off for the last hour or so, and Octavia thinks it is already slowly starting to look better. Apparently, the stranger disagrees, and she feels herself getting defensive.

“There's a pipe leaking under my kitchen sink. I don't normally live like this.”

“Did you get someone to fix it yet?”

She shakes her head. “Our super's on holiday, and I didn't have the time to look for anyone else. For now, I just turned off the water and mopped up the mess. Well, some of it.”

There, that should explain the state of her apartment too. Not that it's any of his business, really. But still – falling off a chair drunk and then inviting them into her pigsty of an apartment is not the best way to introduce herself to her hot new neighbour.

Because there's no other way to describe him, the man is  _hot_ . Tall and positively ripped, with an abstract tattoo peeking out at the neck of his shirt, and eyes that seem to be looking straight into her soul.

“I can take a look at it for you, if you want,” he offers, already grabbing the fresh lightbulb off the table and climbing on the chair that tried to kill her before.

Great. Just great. Three hours into her months-long vow of celibacy, and the first man Octavia talks to is  _perfect_ .

It irritates her beyond measure.

“Sure, sure. Would you like to rescue some puppies too while you're at it?“

That causes him to look slightly alarmed. “What?“

Now he looks like a big puppy himself, and Octavia sinks down onto the sofa and tries to smile in a somewhat nonthreatening way.

“Nothing. Just making a joke.“

From the way he looks at her, it's clear that he does not get the joke at all, but he smiles politely anyway and gets started on the lamp, all while introducing himself and then making light small talk. His name, Octavia finds out, is Lincoln, which is a decidely odd name but who is she to talk about odd names. She's getting a little drowsy by now though, so she just lets him talk and watches him work. He's very thorough, but Octavia isn't going to complain: the longer he stands there with his arms above his head, the longer she can admire the toned curve of his biceps and the small sliver of skin peeking out between his shirt and his belt.

She may not be allowed to touch, but she sure as hell is going to look.

***

 

Apparently, her new neighbour is a saint and Octavia was drunker than she thought, because she falls asleep at some point while she watches him fix her lightbulb (and definitely does not dream of having his hands on more than just her light fixtures, nooo) and wakes up again to blinding light and a pulsing headache when she falls off the sofa.

When she's able to open her eyes again and take in her (much too bright) surroundings, Octavia notices that she's tangled in a blanket, which, since she doesn't remember even lying down, must mean he covered her with the blanket before leaving. The second thing she notices is the glass of water on the table, with an aspirin pill right next to it – clearly, last night's visitor was an actual angel. She's definitely going to have to thank him, and for a moment, Octavia rejoices – its's the perfect excuse to go over there and further their acquaintance.

Then she remembers the stupid vow Raven and Clarke talked her into last night, and her excitement turns into dread. She absolutely cannot be around this man while she's trying to stay celibate for  _months_ .

But then again, she tells herself while she washes down the aspirin, that stupid vow should not prevent her from being a good neighbour. After all, he could be married or in a relationship. He could be gay, or not interested in her in the first place. Hell, there's a chance he's not even as hot as she remembers him – she was fairly drunk, and surely no one is that perfect?

Yes, Octavia decides, there's no harm in being friendly.

But when she goes over and knocks on Lincoln's door later, he doesn't answer, and she doesn't see him around for several days until she runs into him on her way home from the studio. Since the staff shower is broken and it's against policy to use the showers in the students' dressing rooms, she's still in full dance gear, her sweaty hair piled up on top of her head. It's not her best look, but Lincoln's eyes still light up when he sees her. He seemed in a hurry, pulling on his jacket on his way out the door, but he stops when they meet in the middle of the hallway.

“I see you survived the hangover.”

Octavia groans, partly at the memory of that unpleasant morning, partly because he really is as beautiful as she remembers. “Just barely. Thanks for the aspirin. And the lightbulb. And the blanket... damn, I really owe you one.”

He laughs. “Make it a dinner, and we're even.”

“Dinner, hm? Someone's aiming high.”

“Go big or go home.” He says it with a little shrug and a smile and Octavia can practically feel herself melting with affection right there in the hallway.

“That kind of go-getter attitude needs to be rewarded – dinner it is.”

“Excellent! I need to hurry, I'm already running late. Let me know when you have time, alright? Just slip a note under my door.”

They could of course just exchange phone numbers, but Octavia has to admit she likes this much more. Clarke would call her sentimental, but Octavia thinks there's something romantic about slipping notes under each other's doors.

“You've got it.”

“See you soon then.”

With that, he rushes off, and Octavia looks after him bemusedly. This is  _bad_ . Really, really bad. Normally, she would rejoice at the prospect of having dinner with such a particularly fine man, but, well, normally she wouldn't leave it at dinner. Octavia has always believed in getting what she wants when she wants it, not playing coy or restraining herself so people don't get the “wrong impression”. Let them judge her all they want, she always thought, at least she's having fun.

But now, with that stupid, stupid vow of celibacy hanging over her head, she's going to have to refrain from having Lincoln for dessert when he comes over for dinner. But friends are friends and promises are promises, so just dinner it is.

***

 

Since Octavia is not particularly patient, she writes a note suggesting they have their dinner at her place the following night and slips it under Lincoln's door right away, and only after doing that (and maybe spending some time daydreaming) does it occur to her that there is a massive flaw in her plan: Octavia can't actually cook for shit. She's always been hopeless at it, and since she lives mostly on fruit, veggies and protein shakes these days, there's not much need for her to improve her skills. But now she invited a man over for dinner, and she really, really wants to impress him. There's only one thing she can do: Call her brother.

Bellamy has become quite the foodie recently, and since he's never been able to say no to her, it's fairly easy to convince him to help with dinner. He promises to whip up a lasagna that she only has to put in the oven and bring it by the next morning before he heads to his office at the university, and all that is left for Octavia to do is clean up her apartment – the living-room at least, because the upside to the stupid vow, it occurs to her, is that she doesn't have to make sure her bedroom is presentable.

She does anyway, because it's her day off and this has got to be the longest day in the history of time, and when her doorbell finally rings at seven, Octavia is practically bouncing with excitement. Every surface in her apartment is gleaming, every shelf and drawer is meticulously sorted, her books are arranged according to Bellamy's ridiculously complicated but admittedly very useful system, and there's not so much as a single dirty sock left in her laundry basket.

When Lincoln steps inside and looks around, his eyes widen in astonishment.

“Wow, you really cleaned up the place.”

“Well, I didn't want you to think I'm a complete mess. A nd having my lamp working again helped, so thanks for that.”

She shoots him a broad smile and feels only the slightest bit guilty – she's not flirting, really, she's being a good, friendly neighbour.

While Octavia gets the lasagna out of the oven, Lincoln continues looking around at her apartment, and she'd think he was being nosy if she didn't know she'd do the exact same thing in his place. She wants to know everything about this man, and the fact that he apparently feels the same about her is very very promising.

He's spotted the photos Clarke took of her which Raven framed in dark wood for her birthday a few years ago, beautiful black-and-white shots of her dancing – one in classic ballet gear, white tutu and en-pointe shoes, the other in a black leotard during a modern number. She looks beautiful in both, strong and graceful, and now she's glad Raven insisted on hanging the pictures here, where everyone can see them immediately, because when Lincoln turns towards her again, there's an awed look on his face.

“You're a dancer?”

“Dance instructor.”

“That still means you can dance, right? Feel like showing me a few moves?”

“I'd feel stupid just dancing around in front of you.” She wouldn't, really – Octavia loves dancing, she knows she's good at it, and she dances around in front of people every day. But she has to stop her mind from painting a very vivid picture of giving him a private show of some of her best moves. As tempting as it is, she has made a vow. And they haven't even had dinner yet, for crying out loud!

He looks genuinely, endearingly, disappointed, and that and her damn impulsive streak are what trigger her next words:

“You should come by one of my classes some day. I have an open class at the start of every course so people can check out if they like it, and there are a ton of classes starting over the next weeks.”

“I'll have to try and catch one then.”

They sit down to eat, opening the bottle of wine Bellamy very thoughtfully delivered with the lasagna (her big brother has come a long way from threatening to beat up her boyfriends if they got fresh), and he asks more questions about her job – when did she start dancing? What does she love about it? - and listens intently when she answers them. Then he talks about his own work restoring old houses, which is fascinating and makes his expression endearingly animated with joy, and before she knows it, it's midnight and she catches him stealthily stifling a yawn.

“I'm sorry, you're probably tired.”

“I am, but you have no idea how sorry I am about that. I had to get up at five this morning, otherwise I could stay here and keep talking to you for hours.”

Octavia's breath hitches at the words, at the thought what else he could do to her for hours... She's not really surprised, to be honest, by the words or by the way he's looking at her when he says them. She has known from the moment she opened her door to him tonight and his eyes lit up that there's attraction between them, strong and undeniable. And considering they spent hours swapping life stories (even the sad bits, like the knee injury that ended her ballet career a few years back or his near-disastrous flirtation with drugs), she guesses it's not just physical – which somehow makes it even harder to remember what she promised to Clarke and Raven, get up from the table and start putting away the dessert dishes.

But, even with the stupid ( _stupid!_ ) vow hanging over her head, she can't quite bring herself to drive him away entirely yet. What are six months for people who are clearly destined to be together?

She returns to the table and smiles at him.

“Well, you could always come back some other time, when you've had a little more sleep.”

Shit, that sounded more flirty than she intended. But his smile is back and she feels like she has successfully communicated that she wants to see more of him, so there.

He gets up then, still smiling as he walks to the door.

“I'll do that. Maybe I could invite you over for dinner the next time, so you don't have to go through all this trouble again.”

She doesn't tell him that it wasn't really that much trouble for her, seeing as she did nothing except buy Cannoli for dessert. She'll come clean about her atrocious cooking at some point, she swears, but for now, she'll let him think the best of her.

And just when she's starting to worry about how to get through the obligatory end-of-date-kiss without either outright rejecting him or, you know, actually kissing him and thus breaking her vow, Lincoln proves that he really  _is_ perfect: He kisses her hand. It should be cheesy or smarmy or creepy or any number of weird, unpleasant things, but instead, it is simply adorable. And somehow, still, pretty hot, because his thumb is gently rubbing across her knuckles and his lips are dry and soft and he doesn't even break eye-contact, like some kind of freaking old-timey romance hero...

And then he lets go of her hand, smiles sheepishly, and says: “I don't know why I just did that. I feel like an idiot now,” and that pretty much seals her fate: Octavia is in love.

Maybe she can work around the vow somehow? Or tempt Clarke and Raven into breaking it? She's pretty sure if she suggested to Bellamy that Clarke would enjoy some of his excellent food and send her friend over with a bottle of wine, there's a reasonable chance that someone breaks the stupid vow before her. But that would be cheating, and rather unfair to her brother too, who deserves to be more than Clarke's rebound guy. So Octavia does the honorable thing: She gives Lincoln a small wave and a smile and closes the door.

***

 

She doesn't see or hear from Lincoln for over a week after that, and she's starting to get seriously bummed out because clearly, she misjudged the level of chemistry between them – only to get home from work and find a cheerful yellow post-it on her door.

“ _Sorry about not getting back to you sooner”,_ it reads,  _“I was out of town for work. Are you free some time this week for a return invitation to dinner?”_

She practically dashes inside the apartment, frantically searching for her own post-it pad with a big stupid smile on her face. She quickly scrawls her reply on the top sheet and sticks it to his door before shutting her apartment door and doing a little victory dance in the middle of her living-room. (She feels the tiniest bit guilty, but really, she's not flirting. Nothing that involves post-its (hers are a rather dull shade of mint green, a give-away from her bank) could possibly be considered flirting, right?

Their second not-officially-a-date dinner takes place two days later, and Octavia takes the opportunity to study his place with the same curiosity he did hers, very impressed by everything she sees. The apartment is decorated with a minimalism that borders on the frugal, but there are enough personal touches to avoid evoking the cold, clinical atmosphere of high-end design catalogues. The cool greys of the walls and the couch are offset with the dark wood of an antique dining table and a reprint of what looks like a baroque church ceiling, hung up over the couch to provide a stunning contrast to the otherwise clean lines and subtle colours of the apartment. The man has taste, but he does not value style over function – the couch, for example, looks like two people could snuggle up on it quite nicely.

Like the last time, they immediately fall into easy conversation – Lincoln talks about the building he's currently restoring and his demanding but brilliant new boss, and Octavia shares how excited she is to be in her friend Monty's wedding. It's comfortable without being boring, and just like on their first evening together, time simply flies by. This time it is Octavia who starts yawning subtly, since she took on two classes for a sick colleague on top of her own today and is pretty much wiped out. She somehow manages to pull herself together and say goodbye without so much as a hug, noticing his bemused and slightly disappointed expression and hating that she can't allow herself to be happy about it. After all, he may show interest now, but if she's serious about sticking to the vow, he probably won't wait around for her for  _months._ But she really likes him, and she's afraid that means that soon she'll have to make a decision – go back on the promise she made to her friends, or risk letting a great guy slip through her fingers.

Thankfully, Octavia doesn't have to decide right away because she's so busy she doesn't see much of Lincoln the next few weeks. They run into each other in the hallway a few times and manage to chat for a bit (chat, not flirt, even though there is an awful lot of smiling and casual touching) but one of them always has to hurry off. They have coffee once, when Octavia runs out of coffee beans one Sunday morning and goes over to borrow some more only for him to just invite her in, and they manage to have dinner one more time but are saved from any awkwardness by an unexpected and very late phone call from Monty, whose caterer cancelled two weeks before the wedding. Lincoln smiles and leaves her alone to deal with this crisis, and she allows herself to hug him goodbye this time because he's  _perfect_ and hugging is not against the rules, dammit.

The next time she sees him after that, however, Octavia finally admits defeat.

One month after he first suspected her of having killed someone in her apartment, when she has pretty much forgotten that she invited him to come to one of her open classes, Lincoln actually shows up at the studio and proclaims that he'd like to take part in today's class.

The thing is, while her invitation was genuine, Octavia didn't really expect him to actually participate in one of the courses, much less  this particular one. But here he is, standing next to five nervous middle-aged women, one excited young man who's currently making his way through all her classes, and a row of slim, shiny poles. Trying not to show her surprise, she greets them all with a bright smile while closing the curtains over the floor-length windows to the street. They sometimes leave them open during class, a kind of free advertisement that draws attention from passersby, but today's newbies would no doubt be embarrassed if people watched their first clumsy attempts at poledancing.

Because that is today's class: Poledancing, a style that is athletic and challenging, yes, but mostly it's supposed to be sexy, and she's been trying very hard not to think sexy thoughts about Lincoln for the few weeks she's known him now. And yet here he is, wearing loose grey sweatpants and a black tank top that shows off sculpted arms and well-defined pecs. Octavia notices the other participants eyeing him with a mixture of intimidation and hunger, and there's not a doubt in her mind that she sports the exact same expression. Never in her career as a dance teacher has Octavia ever wished that one of her students would be a bad dancer, but right now, she's hoping he'll at least have no sense of rhythm to make up for his flawless physique and the panty-dropping smile he directs at her.

Alas, she has no such luck, and the following hour turns into the hardest dance lesson Octavia has ever given – and she has taught ballet to three-year-olds whose helicopter moms were all convinced their kids were going to be the next great prima ballerina. Lincoln not only has no trouble keeping a rhythm, he also has excellent posture and muscle tone, as her trained eye can easily observe due to the fact that his loose tank top reveals more than it conceals of his chiselled torso. The mirrored walls all around offer her an almost panoramic view of the wonders of her neighbour's physique, and there are a lot of moves that draw attention to his physique in today's program, all of which he follows without making a complete ass of himself. He may not be the next Magic Mike, but what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm, sheer force, and smouldering glances in her direction, and by the end of the lesson, Octavia is breathing much harder than she normally would after completing such a comparatively easy routine.

Afterwards, three of the women sign up for the course right away while the others take flyers and promise to think about it before they all depart, leaving only her and Lincoln behind in the empty room, with the smooth, slow music she puts on for the cool down exercises still playing quietly in the background.

“So, did you have fun?” Her casual tone sounds hilariously forced, and she's pretty sure he can actually  _see_ her heart racing in her rather revealing tank top.

“Not really, no.”

She lowers the remote she had just picked up to turn off the music to gape at him. Seriously? But he looked so into it! As pretty as he is, now she does feel a little insulted. Before she can come up with any dignified response, however, he steps even closer, takes the remote out of her hand and sets it down.

“You see, the thing is, I came here to learn how to dance. But the only thing I could think of the entire time is how incredibly sexy you are, and how badly I wished the lesson was over so I could do this...”

And then he kisses her. It's so abrupt it takes her by surprise for a moment, but it's also amazing and exciting. The suddenness of it would come off as pushy if it weren't for the fact that he only puts his hand lightly on her waist so she can easily draw back if she wants to. This is an offer, not a demand – and Octavia has never been one to pass up a good offer.

Threading her arms around his neck, Octavia draws closer and opens her mouth under his, allowing him to deepen the kiss, which he does with the appropriate enthusiasm for a first kiss and then some, and soon enough, pressing up against him is no longer enough. Luckily, just as she's thinking that, his hands slide from her waist down to her thighs to pick her up, and Octavia closes her legs around his hips and almost moans at the sudden delicious friction when he props her against the nearest wall for stability. Through her thin stretchy leggings, she can feel every inch of him pressed against her, can feel him getting hard when she starts kissing down the side of his neck, and she has no idea how they went from a simple kiss to _this_ so quickly, but she sure as hell isn't going to complain.

Unfortunately, at the rate they're going, it won't be long until she starts shamelessly humping him or ripping off her clothes and demanding he take her right here at her place of work, which is obviously a bad idea. No, they need to take a break and get somewhere more private, as much as she hates the thought of letting go of him for even a second. But she somehow manages to pull back, and he takes the hint and sets her back down on her very unsteady legs.

“Would you like to come over to my place for a shower?” Eager to avoid awkward pauses, she just blurts it out, her Freudian slip causing him to smirk. Octavia would blush wildly if she wasn't still flushed from class anyway. “I mean dinner, God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean....”

He cuts her off by kissing her again. “I'd like both, if you're offering.”

They almost don't even make it out of the studio because she kisses him again, overcome with giddy joy and eager to finally do all the things she's been fantasizing about doing to him. She's pretty sure the fact that neither of them has a condom is the only thing that stops them from going at it right there on the hardwood floor – or up against the mirrored wall, or maybe with her bent over the vaulting box in the corner, a leftover from yesterday's gymnastic's class... the possibilities are endless. Octavia gets distracted imagning it for a moment before practically tearing her lips off his, grabbing her duffel bag and car keys and pulling him after her by his shirt.

“My place, now.”

***

 

Lincoln does get both a shower and dinner eventually, but it takes them a while to get around to the latter. It's only when the shower runs cold and Octavia's stomach growls audibly that they finally order dinner and put on a modicum of clothes again so as not to scare the delivery guy. Then they return straight to bed to eat and talk and occassionally exchange short, sweet kisses, until Octavia suddenly bursts out laughing through a mouthful of pizza.

“I can't believe you seduced me with your poledancing.”

“I did?”

“Are you kidding me? I could barely concentrate on demonstrating the moves.”

“I only planned to ask if you wanted to go for a drink after the class, you know. It was going to be my last shot before I gave up on you. There were so many opportunities for something to happen but you never even attempted to make a move, so I figured you were either waiting for me to make the first step or you weren't into me.”

“Oh, trust me, I was into you from the moment you changed my lightbulb. And not because I usually need a lot of help around the apartment.”

He laughs. “Then why...?”

“Why didn't I make a move?” She sighs. “This is going to sound so stupid, but... my two best friends made me take a vow of celibacy.”

His jaw drops, which, fair enough, it  _is_ a stupid story. “Turns out they had both started dating the same guy, and when they found out they were angry and heartbroken and decided to swear off love. And because I was drunk and I wanted to be a supportive friend, I let myself get talked into it. That was the exact same night I met you, so really, I never stood a chance.”

And now he throws his head back and laughs, a deep, genuine sound that makes her imagine he only uses it very sparingly and only for people he really likes.

“How long were you going to stay celibate then?”

“The plan was six months.”

Now he looks positively smug. “And you made it through one.”

She shoves him. “Yeah, so? You have great moves.”

And because he's still grinning and not really expecting it, she quickly rolls them both over so she's on top and kisses him, hard.

There's not much talking after that.

***

 

The next evening, Octavia strides into Clarke's apartment and declares that she broke their celibacy pact, and good riddance. Unlike her two best friends, Octavia can spot a good man when she sees him, and she's not letting this one go.

Oddly, however, her friends fail to show the expected level of outrage at her betrayal. On the contrary, they suddenly look at everything but her, Raven's usual fiddling with anything she can get her hands on intensifies, and Clarke turns the colour of a ripe tomato.

“Yeah, about that...”

Octavia takes a step back, situating herself on the other side of the kitchen counter from the two – she has a feeling she's about to get very very angry.

“ _What. Did. You. Do_ ?”

They end up splitting the next pizza-and-margarita-bill and vowing never to take a vow of celibacy again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this story is (other than a shameless Shakespeare-rip-off maybe), but it has a vow of celibacy and a poledancing class, so there's that.  
> Obviously, Monty is marrying Miller, in case anyone was wondering.  
> Also obviously, that ending leaves me with an opportunity to write sequels about Clarke and Raven breaking the vow, if I feel like it.


End file.
